The Host of Seraphim
by Joydrop
Summary: Vash talks to the voice(s) in his head. I hate summaries.


Parts of this were taken from the Trigun anime and the Trigun Maximum manga, respectively. There's a very, very vague Wolfwood spoiler but unless you know what you're looking for, you probably won't pick it up at all (you may not pick it up even if you do know *sweatdrops at self's writing*). Hope it's not too confusing. Also my first crack at trying to follow what goes on in Vash's head. *much chibified weeping* Cursedly difficult to write character....  
  
The quote is from the manga which was kindly translated by Sumire, who runs the 'Make a Little Lightbulb in Your Soul' page (which you should visit, right this instant). Charas are owned by Yasuhiro Nightow and other such lucky people.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  
  
The night was silent. Most of the bars had closed only an hour or so ago, the patrons shuffling drunkenly home or to more unsavory locales. The moons, different coloured pale orbs hung suspended in the sky. They were iles and iles away, out of reach, but still close enough for one to be scarred by the actions of a single creature. The crater carved into the fifth moon, never to be removed until the moon itself ceased to exist, stared down at the sleeping planet. A reminder, a scar, of the creature who had put it there. A reminder that he was still out there.  
  
Questions ran through his mind on silent nights like these.  
  
It's why he loved people so. If he was surrounded by people, even ones with guns, even ones who wanted him dead, they were voices. Voices that drowned out the questions almost constantly repeating in the back of his mind. It's why he hated the night so.  
  
' Haven't you just once felt hatred for the human race? '  
  
Vash closed his eyes, blocking out the soft rays of the moon slanting into the cheap hotel room. He hated the moonlight too. It cast shadows. The suns did too, of course, but it was different then. You could tell what was light and what was dark then. The moons simply made everything gray. It was harder to tell what was real then. What was right then.  
  
' How many times have you been betrayed? '  
  
Too many times. Vash mouthed the late answer to the night air. He couldn't even remember the number anymore. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd simply forgotten or if it had become too painful to remember each time. Each time that smiling face pulled a gun. Each time that life he saved had been snuffed out anyways. Each time a someone looked at him with contempt.  
  
' How many times have you been hurt? '  
  
The scars on his body thrummed dully. Each cut, each slice, each shot. Every single one a wound. One or two were self inflicted, for various reasons, reasons he couldn't remember now but he was sure they had been good ones, but almost all.... It hurt.  
  
' How many times have you been lied to? '  
  
Wolfwood.... How many times? HOW MANY TIMES?! Every time. Every time! They always lied! When they introduce themselves, when they say I feel for you, when they say they would never leave you! They always lied!  
  
' How many times have you been humiliated? '  
  
Calm. Calm. Those times were all his own fault. Stripping and barking like a dog. Acting like an idiot, in whatever fashion he decided on that day. It made no difference if he was dancing into a bar or skipping across clotheslines in an effort to get ride of the most recent angry mob out for the price on his head. He'd chosen that, though. So that.... that was okay. His pride was an easy sacrifice to pay.  
  
' -- been treated as something other than human? '  
  
He shuddered, tears welling up almost immediately at the flashes of memory. They were right.... he WAS a child. To still get upset, so easily, about something that had happened, so long ago.... But the looks he still got were the same. The names he still got called were the same. Monster. Murderer. Diablo. Humanoid Typhoon. Vash the Stampede. Even when it had been Rem, his perfect Rem, had called him.... angel. It was all the same. It was never what he wanted to be called most. Just once....  
  
' -- had that which was most dear to you taken away? '  
  
The clouds had silently, like everything else in the night, drifted in as Vash talked to the voice in his head. They easily blocked out the weak moonlight, casting the half asleep, half awake town into a dark shade of charcoal.  
  
He would not answer that one. Not that question.  
  
Knives.  
  
The clouds moved on to haunt another town and Vash quietly decided that their symbolism and timing sucked.  
  
' -- had your word doubted? '  
  
He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in the gray shadows. So many voices laughed in his mind. Taunting, teasing, disbelieving. That this bumbling moron could be Vash the Stampede. That he could be dangerous. That he knew what he was talking about. That he wouldn't hurt a soul. That they should trust a thing like him.  
  
' -- been laughed at as they ground you into the dirt? '  
  
Many times.... many, many times. He blinked back the fresh set of tears. That had always hurt the most. Not that they had harmed him, but they had _enjoyed_ it. Smirks and grins on their faces as he pleaded for them not to do this. It wasn't the way. Hurting people wasn't the way! The grins would widen. He wasn't 'people'. He was Vash the Stampede.  
  
Yes, Vash breathed, shuddering again as he did so. He hated them sometimes. For their selfishness, for their lies, for the pain they inflicted on everyone around them. He could never say it, never admit it, for then his brother would think he understood and agreed. Vash did understand. He did now. He understood what Knives had been talking about, so many years ago, and what he was trying to do. But.... he also understood it was wrong. For each hurt their hands inflicted, there was another pair of hands to mend him. For each lie, there was a more beautiful truth. And so, for that, and for her, he loved them. Each and every one of them.  
  
' Haven't you just once felt hatred for the human race? '  
  
Yes, I have. But that's because I'm not perfect. I'm not an angel. I'm not like you.  
  
I'm only human.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  
  
Title snagged from a Dead Can Dance song of the same name. And for anyone who is randomly curious:  
  
' Seraphim (pl. for seraph)--the highest order of angels in the pseudo-Dionysian hierarchic scheme and generally also Jewish lore. The seraphim surround the throne of Glory and unceasingly intone the trisagion ("holy, holy, holy"). They are the angels of love, of light and of fire. '  
  
Also, 'host' generally is another name for 'angel'.  
  
Info from 'A Dictionary of Angels', by Gustav Davidson. Don't leave home without it! Well, at least I don't, but I'm also a sucker for useless information. 


End file.
